


Far away, a song

by the_clattering_train



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: AJ Clem Lilly and Charlie are mentioned but dont appear, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hand injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt, Tags May Change, Tenn Louis Violet all survive AU, Trauma, dirt and bugs, two wont even appear in this work but i just cant stand the thought of them being dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_clattering_train/pseuds/the_clattering_train
Summary: After the assault on the ship and subsequent escape, James returns to his camp to tend to his wounds and rest, only to awaken to the sound of footsteps. He finds Tennessee, one of the children he helped save. But something's wrong, and Tenn won't tell him what it is.------To be honest, before March 26th I had more or less forgotten this season even existed. But then the finale happened, and after getting a shock from seeing gifs on tumblr of Clem getting bit, but then the sweet happy-sappy ending, I binged the season in two days and was left wanting MORE.Even if it meant having to write it myself.And so I wrote, enough to actually publish online, for the first time in over a decade, with zero beta reading and this time in my second language... and with the quality to be expected from that. So please, do tear me a new one, I can take it.





	1. Chapter 1

 Distant bird calls echoed between the trees, while gentle morning light sifted through the canopy and glittered in the babbling creek water, creating a lattice of playful shadows that danced over the smooth stones and pebbles of the creek bed.

  Under different circumstances James would have taken the time to appreciate this tranquil beauty, but for now he couldn’t wash away the dirt, walker gore _,_ and his own clotted blood fast enough. A few trickles of water ran down his neck under the walker-skin mask that clung tight to his damp face and hair;  such a hurry was he in that he barely even bothered to dry himself.

   The gash in his left hand, shallow as it was, still throbbed and pulsed without reprieve, the pain no longer masked by adrenaline or righteous fury. Still, he had saved cleaning it for last; open wounds contaminated with walker blood was every bit the death sentence as a bite to the neck ( _or a bullet to the head_ _)_

   While he scrubbed off the last of the viscera staining his shirt the low, near constant buzzing that hadn’t left his head since he jumped off that burning ship rose to the deafening noise of a waterfall, threatening to overtake him completely. But he expected it, was used to it. He’d had plenty of practice at turning his thoughts off and switching into autopilot from when he still called himself a Whisperer; and though he wasn’t happy to admit it, it was the only thing that kept him sane, afterwards.

  Just focus on the here and now; focus on survival. Push away the feelings that make you weak. Push away empathy. Push away regret.

  Nothing else matters.

_No one_ else matters.

 

  The ripped glove came off easier than he expected, though it brought a good chunk of the scab with it. Now exposed to the air was a red-hot and swollen gash, and a string of scarlet pearls that pooled together and ran down his wrist. The bruised and bloodied double crescents on the heel of his thumb surprised him – he knew the kid had bit him hard, back in the cave, but never thought those tiny milk teeth would be sharp enough to punch through a glove and draw blood.

  Shaking his head, he pulled the glove back on again, then reached behind his back for the old gallon jug he stopped by his camp to get. He needed clean water for this.

  Taking the jug, he unscrewed the lid and dipped the neck into the creek; and watched the tiny whirls and bubbles that formed while it slowly filled.

  Somewhere above him, the lamenting call of a mourning dove.

 

  It took some time to get back to the camp, picking up a few bits of firewood along the way, and even longer to get a fire going with one hand weak and constantly hurting. But he finally got the dry grass and paper to catch fire, and after filling two dented tin cans with water for cleaning and drinking, pushing them next to the fire; and after hanging up his soaking wet shirt and vest to dry, James slumped down against the great fallen tree and drew a long shuddering breath.

  Felt like he hadn’t slept for weeks, when it only had been a day and night; a very, _very_ long night.

 

   While waiting for the water to boil he gingerly checked the gunshot wound grazing his upper left arm, from when the kidnappers stormed his camp. Even if it felt - and looked – much better than his hand, it still reopened almost every time he exerted himself. He had no choice but to leave the bandage on, as much as he needed cloth for the cut. At least he still had in his backpack the better part of a large white t-shirt, scavenged from an locked, overgrown car he passed by several months ago. It was hard to find clean cotton fabric these days, and little choice but to use, clean, reuse, over and over until the weft frayed and came apart in his hands.

 

 He sat for a little while longer, savoring the campfire heat, before getting up again to stomp out the fire and get his backpack. He rummaged through it, and pulled out the t-shirt and a roll of duct tape, for the wound; as well as a dry sweatshirt - the very same he wore when he got shot - which he changed into immediately. He also found to his surprise that he still had a few apples left. His stomach grumbled at the sight, but he put them back down again; he needed sleep far more than he needed food. It was the only thing he had left to eat anyway, after the raiders made a fine feast of the dried fish that was supposed to help him through the winter. He sat back down on the boulder, took the t-shirt and half cut, half tore off two rags each about the size of his palm.

   Then, with nothing left to prepare, he took a few deep breaths, to ground himself. He had always hated cleaning wounds.

 

 He tore off the glove and discarded it on the ground, then spread apart the ragged skin flaps as best as he could, and set to work with a freshly washed knife. First scraping off the scab and digging out dirt and small bits of flint, gritting his teeth and blinking away tears of pain as he did. Then using one of the rags as a washcloth, he dipped it in the nearest can and dabbed at the wound; wiping away from the center of the cut, then rinsing the rag again; dyeing the washwater and soil beneath his feet redder and redder each time. At last he wiped the last of the blood off with the dry end of the washcloth and put it away. He folded the clean rag twice before pressing it against the cut, then tightly wound the tape around until it completely covered the cloth, bit off the tape end and put the roll down. It was finished.

 He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times, felt skin and muscle pulse and move beneath the bandage. Still flexible despite the tape, that was good. He scooped up the bloodstained soil into the washwater can, got up and found a stick, and used it to dig a shallow pit for the blood, to cover up the smell. The walkers – the few that were left at least – were probably still occupied with the massive burning shipwreck several miles to the west, but he didn’t want to risk a lone straggler catching the whiff of blood and ambushing him while he was asleep. The din in his head rose again at that thought, and an memory flashed in his head before he could block it out _:_

_Shadowy figures, skulking around a tent camp in the deep of night. Sounds of ripping canvas, joined by shouts and eventually several long, blood-curdling screams, drawing on for far too long._

_Did the walkers do it, or his people?_

_Did it matter?_

_Barely had any supplies worth taking anyway, fucking waste of time, needed to hit a real settlement soon or else they’d-_

He’d…

 

Fuck, he was so tired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, James managed to sleep. Despite his hand burning like wildfire, and having to press his whole body weight down on it to keep it from curling up and hurting more.
> 
> Despite not being able to ignore how vulnerable, how stupid he was, had always been, sleeping outside in broad daylight, wounded, alone; with no one who would hear his pleas for help, and no one who would miss him. 
> 
> Despite having that dream again. 
> 
> The one where his group, his family, finally saw him for the coward he had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the newly updated tags for new content warnings and triggers.  
> Additional chapter-specific content warnings: implied child death, mentions of death by gunshot, slit throat, head smashed/crushed, choking/strangulation, and falling and breaking ones neck. 
> 
> Also lots of guilt-tripping, some which might hit hard if you went with the Trust AJ route. Please don't take it personally, just think of it as James... being James.
> 
> \-----------------------

  James kicked off his boots, and crawled under the sheltering canvas; onto the bed he had made out of branches and thick layers of dry grass, covered with a blanket and bedsheets so stained from grass and dirt and moisture it was hard to believe they had once been white. He pushed aside the quilted blanket, which at least had been colorful to begin with, and flopped down on his back, only to regret it immediately when he bumped the big bruise on the back of his head, from the rock AJ threw when he-... when they were having their little _disagreement_. Groaning, he turned over to lie on his stomach instead, and pulled the blanket over his head, to block out the light and outside world.

  ---

  Somehow, he managed to sleep.

 Despite his hand burning like wildfire, and having to press his whole body weight down on it to keep it from curling up and hurting more.

 Despite not being able to ignore how vulnerable _,_ how _stupid_ he _was -had always been-_ sleeping outside in broad daylight, wounded, alone; with no one who would hear his pleas for help, and no one who would miss him.

 Despite having that dream again.

  Not the one where he re-lived slitting that poor boy's throat, the one that often mutated into him slitting Charlie's throat, or Charlie slitting his; but the one where his group, his _family,_ finally saw him for the coward he had become.

 Where Charlie - his eyes once so soft and full of laughter and warmth and love; now hardened, disdainful, _**cruel**_ \- ripped off James' mask and threw him down on the ground with while the herd, both walkers and Whisperers, circled and closed in on him like slavering, ravenous wolves.

 Where James would plead for his life, like he had done so many times before; first to Alpha and Beta, even when he knew how futile it was to expect mercy from _them;_ then to Charlie's mother and father, who once cared for him like a son; lastly to everyone and anyone he hoped would listen, people who were his friends, _used_ to be his friends, but the few names he remembered got stuck on his tongue and he stuttered and choked on them, couldn't get them out.

 Out of options, _out of chances out of time,_ he desperately sought Charlie's gaze; no one else would listen, but maybe James could still reach _him,_ maybe they could still get away, escape, _together_ ; but when James locked eyes with the boy he loved, who mattered most to him in the entire world, it was like staring into a cold brick wall, and he knew exactly how this would end.

  But, this time, seconds before the herd reached him and seconds before he was torn apart by clawing hands and gnashing jaws, he spotted among them two new unmasked figures, moving on each side of a half-decapitated walker still wearing his old, rotting disguise:

  A teenage girl with fire in her eyes, and a little boy with nothing but fury.

 

  He jolted clear awake, and it took a long time before he even dared to close his eyes again. He listened for moans or footsteps as best he could over the pulse rushing in his ears and his heart beating like a captive baby rabbit's, but heard nothing but carefree birdsong and the quiet rustling of branches and leaves.

 Trying to push away the memories that came flooding back with the dream, he tried to distract himself by identifying the birds he heard, but he had never been good at that, only knew the most distinctive calls: the ones of doves, or owls, or whip-poor-wills. So he settled for counting them instead; but as if to spite him most fell silent, only the single whip-poor-will he recognized kept going, and going, and going.

 Years of training still couldn't keep his thoughts from circling back to AJ, and Clementine.

 How he just let her _waltz away_ with him like that, after everything they said, everything they did. AJ, who _murdered_ a woman begging him for mercy, riddled her body with bullets; saying he _liked_ it, and that he'd killed before and would keep killing anyone who got in his way, and James just... _let him go_ , with the girl who made him that way.

 Why? Why?? Why was he such a fucking coward? Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Pure cowardice. He had wanted so badly to make Clementine see reason just one last time, that he could help AJ, _save_ AJ, if only she let him, but he knew in his heart then, back there in the cave, that if he had tried one more time to take the boy from her, that both would kill him on the spot without a second thought. And with that James would have accomplished nothing but further hardening AJ's mind, add another tally to his body count, and let Clementine tell him, _a five year old_ , it was okay to kill the people he called friends. And they wouldn't even give James the peace of mind of becoming a walker either, would they? Just smash his head against the wall and be done with it.

 And he used to _trust_ her. Why, why?! What was it about her that made him let his guard down, making mistake after mistake for a stranger's sake?

  Well, maybe it was because he saw her on the ground with a boot to her neck and a gun to her head, and AJ being yanked around and manhandled like a sack of potatoes, by people who forsook their humanity long ago and now only thought of children as cannon fodder. And he just couldn't stand idly by and let it happen to them too.

 But also... also, maybe because _she_ trusted him _,_ first, when she accepted his help in the first place, trusted him to keep her and AJ safe, trusted him to not be just another murderer.

 And then, when he asked her, someone so used to killing for her and AJ's survival, to once in her life try and spare the walkers they came across, _she_ _ **did**_ _it,_ she _listened_ to him! He just really wasn't used to that, was he? Used to count himself lucky if encounters with other survivors didn't end with him dodging bullets, but here was someone not only willing to talk to him, care enough to ask his name; but actually consider _his_ point of view, and _that_ had been exhilarating.

 Just, being treated like a person again; being heard, being seen.

 Trusted, and called a friend.

 And with it, given hope even after all these years there were still some good left in people.

 And then she went and and used him like a tool. She saw his bleeding heart and seized it, squeezed it dry.

 Yes, he helped save her friends, but at what cost?

 How many died on that beach, in the gunfight, in the explosion?

 How many more lives did _he_ have on his conscience now, because he was so gullible, so foolish to trust she knew what she was doing?

 Did the captives even make it off the boat in the first place, or did Clementine get them killed too?

 Had it all been for naught?

  Just the same senseless, endless cycle of killing, that he, once again, now had a part in, after years of trying to escape it?

  But he'd always be a part of it, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he? No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to run from himself, he would always be a murderer.

  ---

  His eyes were still red and swollen when he finally fell asleep; when he awoke again the sun had already set. Most of the birds had fallen quiet too; only a faraway chain of 'whip-poor-will's _still_ echoed unbroken in the distance. He rubbed the last traces of sleep from his eyes and rolled over on the side, freeing his trapped hand; tense and stiff with pins and needles, so he massaged it, until the prickling sensation slowly gave way to a dull, feverish throb. Still painful, but nowhere near as bad as it was mere hours ago. Sleeping had done some good to ease his mind too, though his brain still felt like someone had wrapped it in gauze, maybe he could finally start putting some distance between him and the embarassment that had been this entire day. His stomach began to grumble again, and this time he was ready to oblige it.

  But he had barely crawled out of the dark of the shelter and into the pale moonlight when he heard a branch snap and with it

The muted sound

of slow

shuffling

footsteps.

  He lunged at his boots, pulling them on in five seconds flat; swept the ground beside them for where he left his favored knife, found it; grabbed and gripped it in a rock hard vice. He patted his face quickly to confirm that at least he still had his mask on, didn't want to ever let it out of his sight again. Then he closed his eyes, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from, and his breath hitched when he realized that the steps had _stopped_. Several breathless seconds passed, his now wide open eyes darting around, looking for movement, but not daring to make any himself. It could be just a lone walker, it probably was, but he couldn't shake the fear that it could just as well be surviving raiders returning, come to exact revenge.

 Then, finally, _finally_ , he heard the dragging shamble of feet again, from behind the wind-thrown tree to his left. Out of sight from where he was, but too far away to be an immediate threat. Breathing a momentary sigh of relief, he crouched down to pick up one of the many many rocks he had littered the campsite with, still gripping the knife in his right hand just in case. One thrown rock should be enough to let him eat in peace, then he could herd the walker into the barn, into safety. Still crouching and hugging the shadows, he rounded the toppled root system, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw the walker.

 

  He was short, _much_ too short. Hunched over, head bent low and heavy, whole body rocking from side to side with each unsteady step forward. His arms, stiff and contorted, clutched tightly against his stomach.

  Even forty feet away and cloaked in shadows, James recognized him. The fearful, timid boy he was captured alongside of, and brought onto the ship with, where they both watched AJ blow a dozen holes in a woman's head. Who went on to narrowly outrun an explosion and dozens of frenzied walkers, through a twisting cave system with him and Clementine and AJ, at last escaping with them while James stayed back, thinking he was saving their lives.

 But here he was.

 Here he _**was**_ _._

 

  How? How did he die? Fuck, what if he was shot? James thought he'd heard distant gunshots early in the morning, just at the break at dawn, the raiders must have hunted them down and – _Clementine_ must have left him to slowly bleed out, to save her and AJ's selfish, cowardly hides and why didn't James go _-_ how could she live with- how could _he_ live with himself?! All this time he'd been so focused on AJ's safety and sanity, it's like he forgot the older boy even existed, even when he was right there in the cave, watching them fight; and now he was _gone._ Because of Clem. Because of _James._ And he never even bothered to ask his name.

 As stupid as it was, he wanted to speak, _needed_ to speak, anything to break the deafening silence, even knowing full well he wouldn't get an answer.

 “What happened to you?” he croaked, voice as weak and pathetic as he felt, hoarser than he expected too; from talking and shouting more in the last couple days than he'd done in a year.

 But the boy in front of him didn't seem to react at all, didn't even snarl or moan, just kept slowly, slowly shambling forward.

 

  So he put the knife and rock away, took a few cautious steps forward, hands held out prepared to guard against an unexpected lunge. A sudden gust of wind shook the canopy above, and the beams of moonlight that broke through revealed skin caked and clothes soaked with dark rotten blood; and illuminated the terrible burn scar covering half the boy's head.

 He must just have turned too, because his skin hadn't taken on that grey unnatural pallor yet. He still looked healthy, _living._

 He'd be far paler than that if he had bled to death.

 No, whatever killed him did it mere minutes ago. Could have been strangled, which meant his killer was still around, but there had been no sign or sound of them. Or he could have broke his neck trying to climb a tree, running from walkers or just trying to find his way home. It would explain why his head was bent down like that, he was physically unable to keep it upright anymore. But if he really wandered the woods all day before meeting his fate it meant Clementine _did_ leave him behind after all, just so _she_ could get away. _She_ was the reason he was dead.

 He needed to show her what she had done.

 He needed to bring the boy home.

 

  James was about to close the final gap between them, ready to grab the walker by the nape, ready to lead or push him all the way to the school if he had to; when the boy he was grieving but never knew stopped less than eight feet from him.

 And slowly raised his head.

 His eyes.

They were dazed and distant, looking _through_ James rather than _at_ him, but they weren't the milky, glossed-over white he expected, but deep, black wells in vivid umber.

They were alive.

 

 _**He**_ _was alive_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *One* day I'll know how to correctly use punctuation and proper English grammar. One day.
> 
>  
> 
> I have a outline for the full story, and the next two chapters have been drafted, but they're still in pretty rough shape right now so it's still gonna take a while. Thank you for your patience, and for reading in the first place <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the assault on the ship and the aftermath, one of the children James helped save stumbles into his camp. But something’s wrong, and he won’t tell James what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a way longer wait than I expected it to be! But chapter 3 is finally here!
> 
> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Content warnings: implied child death again, grabbing and preventing someone from escaping, self esteem issues (will be added to the tags)

  The wave of overwhelming relief that washed over James when he realized the boy was still alive was powerful enough to nearly knock him to his knees.

  Alone, far from home, and covered in walker innards, but _alive_.

   …Alive, but not alright. Not with that thousand yard stare of his; a stare James had seen all too many times before. On faces much younger than his, on fellow Whisperers, since before they first donned their masks. An invisible barrier, a last-ditch – sometimes _only_ \- defense against the horrors of the world: close it out, close it off, don’t think, don’t feel, just let your reptile brain do what it thinks it needs to do to keep itself alive, and pray that it’ll be enough. It won’t, it usually won’t, because it often thinks that sitting perfectly still in plain sight is enough to keep you safe. It isn’t, it never is.

   But sometimes, _sometimes,_ it works _with_ you, and not against you, and it keeps you up and going and it keeps you _alive._

   It kept this boy alive.

  …This was how _James_ looked too, wasn’t it? When he switched into autopilot. When he couldn’t face the world or even himself, and had to shut it all out.

  What had this boy gone through, what had he _seen_ , that was so terrible that his brain had to switch itself off to at all be able to cope?

   Another breeze blew through the woods, cooler than the first, sending shivers down both their spines as it passed them by. The boy blinked a few times then, teary-eyed from the chill, his gaze growing more and more focused with each blink.

  And then his eyes fixed on James, no longer looking through him; briefly narrowed in confusion, then grew wide and full of fear.

  With a newfound urgency and sense of self-preservation he scrambled backwards, and turned on his heel to run, but James was faster and grabbed his arm before he could take a single step. He expected him to scream, luring any walker or raider still around straight to them, but his response was just a gasp; smarter than most survivors in that regard. But not smart enough not to let himself get overcome by panic, so to the point he couldn’t even make a proper attempt to escape, instead just thrashing aimlessly, trying to break free by sheer force alone.

   “Shh, shh, it’s okay!” said James.

  As soon as he spoke the boy stopped struggling, instead turned to stare at him in slack-jawed, wordless shock.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”, he continued. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

  James thought, perhaps naively, that would be enough to reassure him, but the terror returned to the boy’s eyes nonetheless, and he tried to pry James’ fingers off his wrist, then writhe and wriggle free when he realized he couldn’t overpower James; still every bit as fruitless as before.

  Why was he acting like this? Why was still he so scared?

  James didn’t want to take off his mask, but he needed _something_ to prove he wasn’t a threat, and if he couldn’t even remember the boy’s name, his own name and face was all he had to offer.

  No, no, wait, he _had_ heard the boy’s name, or at least, a nickname. Spoken, and shouted out loud; in worry, and sympathy, and jeering derision; by AJ and Clem and even the leader of the raiders; even she knew more about him than James did.

   “Tenn?” he asked, tentatively, hoping he got it right. He must have, must have, because that caught his attention, and he didn’t struggle quite as fiercely anymore, but he still seemed scared, scared and confused. But it was better than pure fear alone, wasn’t it?

  He was doubly conscious now, however, of the second skin draped over his face; even if Tenn had seen him in it before it didn’t exactly help, did it? Never did when it came to people. He hesitated at first, but then let go of Tenn, sent him reeling in the process, nearly tumbling to the ground from the upbuilt momentum before regaining his balance just in the nick of time.

  James took off his mask before Tenn turn his heel again, and spoke as loud as he dared:

  “Look! It’s me, it’s just me. James.”

  James wanted to give Tenn a smile, or at least a reassuring nod, but his staring eyes were like drills boring holes straight through his brain, and he pulled his mask on again as quick as he could, disconcerted and shaken. It was just… he had expected Tenn to look relieved after realizing it was him, but the way he acted, _still_ looking at James like he was a ghost or monster, left him feeling vulnerable, defenseless, _flayed._ Like his face was an open book, printed in blood, and Tenn could read every word. And he wanted, _needed,_ every barrier he could get to put between them.

  At least Tenn no longer seemed keen on running away anymore; at least there was that.

  But, _why_ was he here in the first place? Had something happened to the others?

  At _some_ point he’d apparently decided to gut a walker and smear himself with the innards to cover his smell: a surprisingly common tactic, James had noticed, among non-whisperers who wanted to sneak through a herd. That meant not all of them died at the beach, it wasn’t a complete massacre. But why wouldn’t they just avoid the walkers in the first place? Were they pursued by raiders, or had they been trapped and surrounded?

  Whatever happened, this meant the woods were still dangerous for someone who had no idea what they were doing; that must be why he was here alone. Must’ve been separated from AJ and Clementine in the herd and then gotten terribly lost, unless they… No. No! They must be alright. They _had_ to be.

  But he needed to know for sure.

  So, James asked:

  “Tenn, where is AJ and Clementine?”

  Tears welled up in Tenn’s eyes and James’ heart sank, sank and raced at the same time, fuck, _fuck,_ he knew he should have gone with them! But Tenn still didn’t say what happened to them, or speak at all. He needed an _answer_. So he asked again, more firmly:

   “What happened? Where are they? Tell me!”

   But Tenn avoided his gaze, squirmed and fidgeted under his piercing glare, quiet tears turning into full on sobs. That was all the answer he needed, wasn’t it? _Fuck._ He rubbed his brow through the mask, and began to unconsciously pace back and forth. If he’d only stood his ground in the cave, not let them get under his skin the way they did, then AJ might still be alive.

  He couldn’t even bring himself to be glad about Clementine; she obviously had no qualms about letting others die, so in a way it was just bitter justice coming for her, but still… _no one_ deserved to die, not even her. If only he could have made her see it before it was too late. And then maybe AJ _…_ Oh, what had he _done?_

  Tenn mumbled something then, just out of earshot, snapping James back to the present. His gaze shot back to the boy, who tensed up, froze like a deer in the headlights. He looked like he wanted to run _,_ but with James’ unyielding attention on him his will faltered quickly, and he remained in place, his whole body wracked with shivers, shoulders heaving with every shallow breath.

  “I don’t _know_ ”, he finally blurted out, between sobs; his voice cracked, paper-thin, and broken.

  Stepping closer, James pressed him:

   “Don’t know where they are, or don’t know what happened?”

   “I-I-I don’t know”, the boy stammered, his lower lip quivering so much he could barely speak at all. He tried to wipe away tears and snot with his shirt sleeve; didn’t do much good. Then he tried to back away, put some distance between him and James; didn’t do much good either. _Finally_ he continued, his voice getting quieter and choppier by every syllable:

  “Where- they are, or… don’t know- what happened- to them.”

  He _wanted_ to believe Tenn, wanted to think AJ and Clem could still be alive despite everything, but the way he kept giving him non-answers, wouldn’t even look him in the _eye_ as he did it. Instead his tearful gaze darted around like a pinball, looking _everywhere_ but at James, as if he wanted to pretend he didn’t exist… or maybe because he was looking for some way, _any way_ , to _get away_ from him.

  James didn’t notice it until now, but he’d stepped forward to hover over Tenn, following him for every step the boy took backward, arms raised to make sure he could catch him quickly if he tried to run away again; and though Tenn couldn’t tell it, beneath his mask he’d clenched his jaws so tightly they had started to _ache_.

 _He_ was the one making this difficult.

  He had to back off again, for the second time in just a few minutes. He took a deep breath, held it for a while, tried to relax as much as he could.All while Tenn watched him, too scared to move.

  “Look”, James began, hoping his trembling voice didn’t reveal how frustrated he still was.

  “You must be exhausted. Hungry too. I know I am. So, let’s both get something to eat, and you get some rest. And we’ll talk about it tomorrow, instead.”

  Tenn looked _skeptical_ to say the least, and after the way he’d been treated James couldn’t blame him. But he could see his bleary eyes, the way he’d begun to sway on the spot. And as if on cue the boy’s stomach began to growl too, though he quickly pressed his arms against it, in a futile effort to silence it.

  “Even if you don’t want to sleep you can still have something to eat”, James said, and motioned to his camp, in the hopes the boy would follow him there. Part of him wanted to grab him, make _sure_ he followed, but… he’d done enough already.

   “Do you… have any water?” He heard Tenn ask. He nodded, and that was all it took, apparently, to make Tenn let his guard down and follow him; round the wind-throw at least, where he stayed while James went and fetched the can that had stood untouched by the campfire until now.

  He was quite thirsty too, James realized as he handed it over, and had hoped they could split it. But, after eyeing and cautiously sniffing the water, Tenn gulped it all down before either of them could blink. He stared dumbfounded at the empty can in his hand for a moment, and James saw it begin to rattle in his grip, before it dropped and rolled away.

   “I’m sorry!” Tenn sputtered, tears welling up again. “I-I didn’t- mean to, I’m-”

  James interrupted him:

   “Don’t worry, I have plenty of water left. Just need to boil it first.”

   He glanced at the ashes of the burnt-out campfire.

  “I’ll get some fuel, for the fire. You can sit down, and eat”, he said, pointed to the boulder closest to the shelter. He went over to his backpack, dug through it for his flint and firesteel, put them in his vest pocket, and then two apples which he placed on the boulder he’d pointed out earlier; leaving one, the last and best one, behind for tomorrow.

  When he turned to look at Tenn again, he found the boy hadn’t budged from the spot; he still stood there by the uprooted wind-throw, looking down on his hands; fingertips ghosting over his right wrist, where James had grabbed him, wincing as he did. Tenn looked up, shied away when he saw James approach, but James stopped by the campfire when he saw Tenn’s reaction, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Considering his words carefully, James then said:

  “I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you like that. It was wrong of me.”

  A mixture of emotions danced over Tenn’s face; too hard for James to read even if he’d had the benefit of daylight. The boy opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but hesitated, and closed it again, let the words remain unspoken. James pointed at the boulder one last time, then left Tenn to his own devices, while he went to gather fuel.

  One good thing about these woods, one he knew he would miss, was that there was plenty to burn; dead wood and fallen down branches wherever he looked, and the raiders had even left behind some empty supply crates at the camp, from some other place they must have ransacked; people weren’t the only thing they stole.

  As he divided a trunk the width of his arm and thrice his whole body length into more manageable pieces, with a rock and knife and still aching left arm, James thought about what to do next. First thing first, of course, would be to bring back Tenn to the school. Part of him was loathe to let Tenn within a mile of Clementine again, lest she twist him like she twisted AJ. _If_ she was even still alive to begin with, that was _._ But Tenn still had friends there, people who fed him and took care of him, and were no doubt a much better influence than Clem, if he could make it this far being… the way he _was_.

  James thought back to the chaos on the ship, when Tenn grabbed that handgun from one of the guards, threatened her and their leader with it while utterly terrified out of his mind. They both saw through his act, and the leader even mockingly goaded him to shoot her; but all he could do was break down in tears. So abhorrent and utterly _foreign_ to him was the thought of killing people, even someone who had been a threat, _was_ a threat, to him and his friends. _Nothing like AJ_.

  And then… then she snatched that gun from him, pointed it at his forehead ready and willing to kill a fucking _child_ hadn’t AJ stopped her, all while _James_ just _sat_ there and did _nothing_ and maybe Clementine was _right._

 

 _Maybe_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this was just the first half of chapter 3 (full thing's currently at 5,3K words), but I had a decent spot to end it on, and I really *really* wanted to update the fic before May ended. Working on 3½ as we speak!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your patience again, and thank you for your kudos and subscriptions too, holy crap I did *not* expect those!


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